Demon Witch (Book Two - The Ravenscliff Series)

by Geoffrey Huntington

  He looked over at her. “Yeah, there are always reasons. How about if you start telling some of them to me?”

  “You are an able sorcerer, Devon, but still an impudent youth.” Mrs. Muir frowned. “Sit down and you’ll receive the facts in due course.”

  The teenagers all followed her with wide eyes.

  “Grandmama,” Cecily said, a little whine in her voice, “why did you have to pretend with me, too?”

  “Sorry, sweetness. But we thought it best.” She looked around the room. “If you think what happened here tonight was terrible, it was only because you didn’t live through the cataclysm that happened here before you were born. That was the night the Madman took your grandfather—my husband—into the Hell Hole. We heard his screams echoing throughout the house for weeks.”

  “That’s when the family renounced their sorcery,” Devon said. “But you still have your powers, Mrs. Muir.”

  She gave him a look. “Do you think we’d really be so foolish as to give up all our sorcery? We knew the Madman might return—and he did, as you know very well, Devon.”

  “So it was you!” Devon said. “It was you who saved me on the roof of the tower from Simon!”

  “Yes. But it was important that the Madman believe I was a helpless old crone, gone crazy in my upstairs room. He had to believe that I had no sorcery left in my being, so that I could take him by surprise, if need be.”

  Devon was nodding, finally understanding. He turned to Mrs. Crandall. “That’s why you would always head up to your mother’s room when things happened,” he said. “So she could use her powers.”

  The mistress of Ravenscliff merely sighed.

  “I did my best,” Greta Muir said. “But this time—”

  “Isobel found out about you,” Devon finished.

  The old woman glanced out the window at the crashing sea below. “Yes. And she will try to force me to do what you have refused so far to do, Devon. Open the Hell Hole.”

  Devon was on his feet, approaching her. “But you can fight her! She doesn’t have the same hold over you that she has over me.”

  Their eyes meet. “That is true. But I am an old lady. I am still human, Devon, and these bones are old. Isobel, on the other hand, is an undead spirit. It matters not what condition her bones are in.”

  “We can do it,” Devon assured her. “I know we can. Together, we can do it.”

  She smiled kindly. “I admire your courage, Devon. I always have.”

  He looked up at her. She knows who I am, he thought. She knows about my past. She can tell me what I need to know.

  “Isobel said I was of her line. That her blood runs in my veins.”

  Mrs. Muir nodded solemnly. “It runs in ours, too. Many Nightwing were descended from Isobel’s son. But he grew up a proud and noble sorcerer. The evil of the Apostate need not taint the blood of her descendants.”

  So that much, at least, Devon could relax about. He figured there was a lot more that Mrs. Muir could tell him, but now was obviously not the time to start bombarding her with questions. They had an undead sorceress to defeat, and who knew when she was going to strike next?

  They didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “Devon! Devon!” Alexander came crying, running down the stairs.

  “Oh, yes,” Greta Muir said. “I forgot to mention. First thing I did was remedy Alexander’s rather, er, distasteful condition.”

  “I couldn’t do it when I tried,” Devon said.

  The old woman smiled. “I have a few years on you, Devon. You’ll get the knack.”

  Alexander nearly flew into Devon’s arms, completely bypassing his father. Devon noticed Edward Muir look away.

  “I was in a cage!” the boy cried. “Cecily put me in a cage!”

  “You were a skunk!” Cecily protested. “What was I supposed to do?”

  Devon smiled. “It was for your own good, buddy. Everything’s okay now.”

  “No, it’s not,” Alexander said. “I just saw her. Morgana! Protect me, Devon! She’s going to change me back into a skunk!”

  “Where did you see her?” Devon asked.

  “Upstairs. In the corridor. She walked right past me, like she didn’t even see me.” The boy’s eyes were round and terrified. “She was heading into the East Wing.”

  “Time to get it on,” D.J. mumbled under his breath.

  Devon turned to Mrs. Muir. “I suppose we need to head to the East Wing ourselves.”

  “Yes,” the old woman said. “But you stay well behind me, Devon. Don’t look into her eyes. None of you boys should.”

  “She doesn’t have anything on me,” Marcus quipped.

  But Mrs. Crandall stopped them. She gripped her mother’s arm. “Please, no, Mama. Let’s all just go away. Leave Ravenscliff.”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been advocating all these years,” Edward groused.

  “Amanda, let go of my arm,” Mrs. Muir said.

  “Mama, please!” Mrs. Crandall was near tears, desperate. “I couldn’t bear it if—” Her words broke off. She was overcome.

  Devon had never seen her like this. Her usual steely composure, shattered. Mrs. Crandall looked like a little girl, holding onto her mother after a bad dream.

  And why shouldn’t she look like a child? She had lost her father to the demons of the Hell Hole. Now she risked losing her mother as well. Despite her stubbornness, despite all her opposition to him these last several months, Devon couldn’t help but feel a sting of compassion for Mrs. Crandall.

  “We have no choice, Amanda, and you know that,” Greta Muir said, gently extricating herself from her daughter’s grip. “We are Nightwing. You may have renounced your powers, but I did not. And remember, you were born with your powers. I was given mine, by my husband, as a wedding gift. I took a vow then that I would use these powers wisely, and never shirk from duty, and to honor all the Nightwing who had come before me. What an honor it was for me to join the ranks of Sargon and Horatio Muir and all the others.” She paused for emphasis, looking first at her daughter and then at her son. “I intend to keep my vow.”

  The room was silent. Mrs. Crandall looked away.

  “Come, Devon,” Greta Muir said. “There’s not a moment to spare.”

  “These kids ought to go home,” Edward said, obviously unsettled. “In fact, we all ought to leave the house. Who knows what will happen up there?”

  “We didn’t leave the last time,” D.J. announced, “and we’re not leaving now.”

  “My ankle is completely healed,” Natalie said, standing up. “I’m ready to go.”

  Devon smiled. Marcus gave him a little salute. Cecily hugged him. He had his army if he needed them.

  “We’ll start on our own,” Mrs. Muir said. “If we need reinforcements, we’ll send for you.”

  Cecily embraced her grandmother. “Please be careful, Grandmama,” she said.

  “We can do this,” Devon told them all, projecting confidence.

  But inside the fear was mounting, and he knew he couldn’t let it win.

  If it did, he lost.

  Taking the old woman’s hand, Devon felt himself dematerialize. It was a feeling he didn’t think he’d ever get used to, that tingling sense of disconnection, of existing only in his mind and not in his body.

  They reappeared in the upstairs parlor of the East Wing, surrounded by furniture shrouded in sheets and covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. The only light came from a few slivers of moonglow that seeped in through the slats of the shuttered windows.

  Greta Muir looked around at the place sadly. “I remember poor, sweet Emily here,” she mused. “It was my first day at Ravenscliff. How lovely she was. How grand this room was back then.” She shook her head. “How different things were in those days, before the Madman changed all our lives forever.”

  Devon felt the heat pulsing from the inner chamber.

  “Um, with all due respect, Mrs. Muir, maybe
we can hold the nostalgia for later,” he said.

  The old woman nodded. “She’s inside. Isobel stands at the Hell Hole.”

  “Do we have a plan?” Devon asked.

  “Yes,” the old woman said simply. “We plan on defeating her.”

  She took a few steps toward the door. All at once a figure moved out from the shadows, blocking their way.

  “Who is there?” Mrs. Muir cried.

  The figure made no answer. It was tall, Devon observed. A man.

  “Who is there?” Greta Muir called out again.

  The man passed through a slender ray of moonlight. Devon made out his face.

  “Rolfe!”

  “I will not let you enter,” Rolfe said, and before either of them was aware of it, he had thrown a chain around the hands of Mrs. Muir.

  A golden chain.

  “You foolish man!” the old woman cried. “I always thought you were stronger than that! My husband loved you like a son!”

  She tried breaking free of the chain but could not, and Devon knew why. “You can’t break it,” he told her. “It’s been forged from the mines of the gnomes!”

  Still the old woman struggled to free herself. But now Rolfe had moved over to the door to the inner room and opened it. A pale green light fell out from within. Rolfe crooked his finger at Devon.

  “She waits,” Rolfe told the boy. “It is your destiny, Devon. Even your father’s vision predicted that you would open the Hell Hole.”

  “Break free of her, Rolfe!” Devon shouted. “You can do it. You’re strong! You’ve taught me to be strong! Think of your father, Rolfe. He was a great Guardian! He would never help an Apostate.”

  Rolfe said nothing. He stepped aside so that Devon could peer into the room filled with the strange green light. There was a figure standing in the doorway.

  It was Isobel.

  “Come, Devon,” she said, her voice warm and entreating. “Come discover your destiny to rule beside me, with the greatest power any sorcerer has ever known.”

  She reached out her hand to him. He was transfixed looking at her. He could not think—could not remember any of her evil, any of her treachery, any of her dark plans.

  All he remembered was that she had said she loved him.

  “Come, Devon,” Isobel called.

  He could see the Hell Hole now, the source of the green light. It pulsed ferociously, the creatures behind the locked door frantic with the anticipation of freedom.

  “Come to me,” Isobel said, and extended her hand.

  “Yes,” Devon murmured, and reached out toward her.

  All at once there was a flurry of motion, a rush of wind. Devon staggered backward, falling to the ground, as the force pushed past him, assaulting Isobel. It knocked her to the ground. The Apostate began to scream.

  “What? What happened?” Devon shouted.

  He was being helped to his feet by Rolfe. He saw the golden chain on the floor.

  He realized that the force that had overtaken Isobel was Greta Muir.

  But not Greta Muir the old woman. Instead she was like a bird—a raven—a giant bird with enormous, powerful claws.

  And Isobel—she was a rat, a hissing, snarling rat, with sharp pointed teeth and a long, greasy tail that kept whipping back and forth in terror and rage.

  The raven’s beak slammed down into the eye of the rat. A howl of pain shrieked from the creature’s mouth, and the entire house began to shudder with the force of an earthquake. Devon staggered, holding onto the wall to keep from falling, all the while watching the Hell Hole, pulsing with green light, the demons screaming and throwing themselves against the portal.

  The battling creatures had resumed their human forms. Isobel, regaining her strength, rose to stand over the fallen Greta, a broken old woman who could do nothing more than lift her right hand.

  Suddenly a white light overwhelmed them all. Devon and Rolfe both recoiled from its glare. The demons ceased their noise behind the door. Through the blinding light Devon managed to glimpse Greta Muir rise up—not the old woman he’d come to know, but a young, vibrant, powerful sorceress, the way she must have been once many years ago, before her husband had been killed. Her hair was as red as Cecily’s, her eyes blazing with fire.

  “Your power here is ended,” Greta shouted as she pinned Isobel down on the ground. “The power of good will always triumph over the darkness!”

  “No!” Isobel shrieked, trying to break free. “It mustn’t end this way! It mustn’t!”

  With one last blast of power, she threw Mrs. Muir off of her. Greta sailed across the room and crashed into a table. Isobel tried to stand but discovered she could not. She had been weakened, perhaps fatally, by Greta’s power, but for the moment she was still capable of more destruction.

  “Now, Devon,” Rolfe whispered.

  And Devon leapt. He landed with both feet of Isobel’s chest. She screamed.

  “Nooooo!”

  The Hell Hole pulsed in one last burst of light, then faded into darkness. The heat dissipated. The green glow was gone.

  Under Devon’s feet, Isobel twisted and convulsed, then disappeared in a funnel of gray smoke. All that was left in her place was a pile of ashes—the stinking, smoldering remains of a witch burned at the stake.

  Rolfe rushed to Greta Muir’s side. “Are you hurt badly?” he asked.

  She was old once more and badly bruised, but she managed a smile. “My husband would be proud of you, Rolfe.”

  He turned to Devon. “Help me with her. We’ve got to carry her downstairs.”

  “It was the element of surprise that was necessary,” Rolfe explained as they gathered in the parlor. Mrs. Muir had been carried to her bed in her room, and Bjorn is with her now. His potions and powders would bring her back to health and strength.

  “So you were just pretending to go along with her?” Devon asked.

  Rolfe nodded. “I knew the moment would come when I’d be able to turn the tables on her, so long as she never suspected.” He smiled. “So the moment she wasn’t looking, I removed the golden chain from Mrs. Muir.”

  “But, dude, how’d you break free of her power?” D.J. asked. “I tried, believe me, but I just couldn’t do it.”

  “I admit I had help.” Rolfe looked at Devon. “I don’t think Isobel expected to run into someone like Roxanne when she came to Misery Point.”

  “What kind of powers does Roxanne have exactly, Rolfe?” Devon asked. “Is she a sorceress, too?”

  “Let’s leave that story for another time,” Rolfe said, just as Mrs. Crandall and Edward walked into the room.

  Their faces were pale. Mrs. Crandall’s eyes were red from crying.

  “Mother,” Cecily said. “Grandmama is going to be all right, isn’t she?”

  “Bjorn can’t do anything for her,” she replied emotionlessly. “None of his remedies have helped.”

  Edward Muir scoffed. “I never believed in his hocus-pocus anyway.”

  “Well, it worked for me,” Natalie said, standing up on her ankle. “See?”

  “A real doctor is on his way,” Edward said, ignoring her. “And I think it’s time all you children ran along home. It’s late. I’m sure your parents must be wondering where you are.”

  “But first, Devon,” Mrs. Crandall said, “I want you to take away their memories of everything that has happened here. It wouldn’t do to have them telling tales of sorcery and witches in the village.”

  “Take away my memories?” Marcus said, outraged. “I think not.”

  The others echoed his sentiments.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Crandall insists. “It is for your own good, as well as ours.”

  “I won’t do it,” Devon told her, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Mrs. Crandall was adamant. “I am your guardian. You will do what I say.”

  “No,” Rolfe said, walking up behind Devon to drop his arm around his shoulder. He faced Mrs. Crandall. �
��I am Devon’s Guardian. Capital G. And you know full well the responsibility that carries. And you also know that Devon using his powers in such a way would be a terrible misuse of them. I doubt he could even do it if he tried.”

  “You stay out of this, Montaigne,” Edward Muir snapped. “The boy’s father sent him to live with Amanda, not you.”

  “Uncle Edward,” Cecily said, getting up in front of him. “Rolfe just helped save us all from Isobel the Apostate. Don’t you think you owe him some thanks?”

  “Thanks?” Edward Muir looked as if he wants to spit. “For what? For nearly killing my mother? If he would have just let her handle it her own way, she might not be up there right now fighting for her life. He threw that golden chain on her, remember. He admits that.”

  “He had to do it, Edward,” Devon said. “It was the only way to trick Isobel, to take her by surprise. I was there. You weren’t.”

  Rolfe had turned away in disgust. “That’s all right, Devon. Let them remain consumed by their hatred of me.” He glared over at Edward suddenly, then back at Mrs. Crandall. “But you can no longer keep me from Devon. The boy has a right to learn about his Nightwing heritage.”

  “Get out,” Mrs. Crandall said. “All of you. I want to be alone.”

  “I’m telling you, Amanda,” Rolfe told her. “I will train Devon in his powers.”

  “You? You haven’t had the training yourself!”

  “I am learning! And I will bring experts here to Misery Point—”

  “Get out!” Mrs. Crandall was furious. “I will determine what’s best for Devon! Now I mean it, all of you, out!”

  Rolfe shook his head. Heading out the door, he told Devon that he’d be in touch tomorrow. Devon had so much he wanted to tell him—starting with his adventure in 1490—but he knew they’d better not push Mrs. Crandall much further. He said goodnight, and Rolfe left through the front door, as Devon’s three friends followed.

  “I’ll talk with you guys, too, tomorrow,” Devon said to them.

  “Good work, Mr. Wizard,” D.J. said.

  Devon smiled.

  They pledged to keep everything to themselves. It was a vow they’d taken before, and they’d kept it. Not even their parents knew about the supernatural adventures they’d had at Ravenscliff.